


Let's Make the Stars Blush

by lovelyrhink (crimsonwinter)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Power-Bottom!Link, rhink, roachborne - Freeform, sex under the stars, two dumb detectives talking about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/lovelyrhink
Summary: His partner is an innocuous doofus of a stargazer, but as of the last few weeks, Seaborne’s thoughts are anything but innocent.





	Let's Make the Stars Blush

**Author's Note:**

> Educate yourself on [Seaborne & Roach](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6492EA86F96F8D3E) if you haven't already. It's truly a mythical masterpiece.

Seaborne’s eyes are on the road, but his mind is elsewhere.

He likes driving, the feel of the steering wheel in his hands and the control he has over the car. The streets of Raleigh are empty at night, and he rides them as smooth as he pleases, reveling in the swing of his Chevy El Camino as he turns corners. His detective partner, Roach, is riding passenger beside him, suckling at the straw of his milkshake, but the slurping noises don’t quite cut through the endless grind of Seaborne’s thoughts, the same thoughts he’s been suffering in cycles for weeks on end.

He’s thinking about Roach, or, more accurately, his feelings for Roach. It’s nearing the 10-year mark of their partnership, their friendship, and Seaborne’s angry with himself for soiling the purity of it. Roach is oblivious as he takes a couple more fries from the console between them, and Seaborne can’t bear to look at him. He doesn’t know exactly when the naughty thoughts manifested, but he’s guilty all the same. His partner is an innocuous doofus of a stargazer, but as of the last few weeks, Seaborne’s thoughts are anything but innocent. As he drives, he mentally chastises himself for imagining the same smutty scenes, fantasizing about what he’d do to Roach if he let him.

It’s funny, really, knowing a guy so long. Though it feels like they’ve been friends since childhood, they’d met in a bar a decade prior, discovering a shared interest in freelance detective work and having a celebratory beer over it, then drunkenly deciding to work together. Ever since, they’ve spent their days chasing the cases no serious detectives considered worth their time, sitting hours on stake-outs and never quite solving anything. It’s their lifestyle, and he maintains it for Roach, but Seaborne often finds himself hurt by what other detectives whisper about them behind their case files. Bitter about it and everything else, Seaborne takes an abrupt right turn onto a back road, and Roach mumbles something through a mouthful of fries.

Seaborne’s tense, pissed-off and confused because he didn’t even notice the guy _that way_ when they first met. In truth, Seaborne thought him kinda weird-lookin’, what with his freakish tallness and buggy eyes, that sorry excuse for a chinstrap beard, and thin lips that speak nothing but stupid questions and conspiracy theories. What is it about the freak, then, that has Seaborne so twisted up? Is it the fact that they spend more time together than either of them did with girlfriends? Or is it that even after days of brewing over a dead-end case, Seaborne will find Roach in his apartment the next morning? And what two adult male coworkers have _sleepovers_ anyway? Platonic or not, Seaborne’s grumpy that he knows what the alien-fucker looks like in boxers, hunched over his bathroom sink brushing his teeth, and he’s even grumpier that the image sparks something hot and low in his belly.

They don’t live together, thank God, but it’s not like it matters. Late-night cases often lead to late-morning breakfasts, alone together and slipping into a comfortable domesticity that Seaborne never even had with Stacy. Stephanie? Whatever.

Seaborne’s internal gears grind at his guilty conscience as the Chevy picks up speed. Trees and road signs blur as his mind runs a step ahead, and he feels himself return to unwanted patterns of bitterness. He must’ve grumbled something under his breath because his partner’s voice stabs through, tinged with insistence. Seaborne steals a glance, goes hot under the collar at what he sees, and looks away. These goddamn _feelings_ have made him distant and jumpy. He’s terse, and it’s clear to Roach as Seaborne snaps, “What?”

“I said, ‘I can hear your brain spinning,’ and I think we should park somewhere and talk about it.”

Seaborne floods with shameful heat, toes curling in his black leather dress shoes at his partner’s kindness. He glances from the dark stretch of road to Roach’s face, and in that moment, Seaborne remembers. Roach is looking at him with a soft concern in his eyes, and Seaborne remembers; it’s that look, that face, those _eyes_ that make him feel what he feels. Roach nudges his wire-framed glasses and pops a quizzical brow, awaiting response. Sometimes Seaborne forgets that he’s not alone, that Roach is there beside him and knows him just as well. Roach can read his body language, but hopefully not his thoughts, and Seaborne knows he’s been caught. He holds Roach’s piercing gaze longer than the driver should as he responds, “Okay, where?”

Roach turns to look out the windshield, but Seaborne can’t do the same. Roach’s lips are shiny with grease and sugar as he speaks, points up ahead and says, “There’s an overlook off that exit. Keep your eyes on the road.”

Seaborne glances at the exit and signals to nobody as he switches lanes. His mind is still racing, but now he’s feeling guilty for blocking Roach out. They’d made a point to get milkshakes together (and a side of large fries as Roach is always hungry), even though Seaborne’s sits mostly untouched and dripping condensation in the cupholder. As Seaborne takes the exit, he feels another pang of guilt for denying Roach of the ice cream cone he wanted instead. He’d claimed it was to keep him from staining the Camino’s upholstery, but mostly he didn’t want to deal with Roach’s tempting tongue swirling and lapping up sweet cream next to him. The milkshake wasn’t any better, though, due to the suckling.

Seaborne reduces speed and leans forward to peer at the road through his headlights. It’s a narrow stretch of gravel that leads up through the mountain, and the two men both go silent as they climb ever higher. Seaborne breathes shallow as he finds the overlook and pulls into one of many empty parking spaces. The open sky is dark, but the silhouettes of tall redwood trees are darker, shadowed black against navy night. It’s empty save for Seaborne’s Chevy, and the overlook glows faintly in silver moonlight, distant stars glittering above the woods.

The driver puts the car in park and yanks the emergency break a touch too forceful. His passenger notices and takes a deep breath in hope that Seaborne does the same. If Seaborne weren’t so smitten, he’d roll his eyes at his friend’s hippy-type meditation, but he’s worked up, so he lets Roach help him breathe. They take three slow, clear breaths together before Seaborne’s knuckles loosen and he releases the wheel. His fingers are sore, trembling as he smoothes both hands through his slicked hair, pushing the overgrown length of it behind his ears. He scrubs at his mustache and reaches for his milkshake, mixes the melted layer with the straw, and takes a sip.

Roach watches him all the while, peering at him through his glasses like he’s determined to figure out what’s wrong. Seaborne takes a few more big sips of vanilla shake and lets the silence settle. He’s sure Roach has sensed the shift in Seaborne’s behavior weeks prior, but since he’s only just now said something, Seaborne prays he hasn’t figured it out. The mustache-detective entertains a few excuses for aloofness as the chinstrap-detective studies him and takes a handful of fries. When a third of his milkshake is down, Seaborne figures he can’t lie about a break-up, the death of a family member, or anything else. With Roach watching him, he’s going to have to tell the truth… or at least something close to it.

Seaborne purses his lips. “So, what’s up?”

“I don’t know, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Twitchy. You’ve barely looked me in the eyes for weeks. What’s going on?”

Feeling the heat, Seaborne deflects. He eyes the moon and stars just beyond the windshield, brushes the rough fabric of his tweed coat, and pulls on the knot of his tie. “It’s warm in here. Let’s sit on the hood.”

Roach rolls his eyes, and Seaborne doesn’t miss it, but he’s already unbuckled and out of the car. Roach rolls down the passenger-side window to air out the smell of warm milk and cold fries, then follows Seaborne to the hood. Seaborne trails a hand along the stretched nose of his baby, and the bright red paint looks maroon in the dark. He takes the left side of the double-black stripes and sits gently, draping his legs over the headlights. Roach joins him silently, and the car sags with the other man’s weight. It’s cold out, but not so cold that the chill doesn’t feel good on Seaborne’s burning cheeks. Lady Moon isn’t yet at her fullest but beams luminous against the night, offering her constellations as gifts in the eyes of a wanderer named Seaborne. He tips his head up towards the stars and faintly remembers a college astronomy lesson or two, pointing out Orion and Cassiopeia.

Roach leans back on his hands and pitches his voice low as he says, “I’m just gonna sit here and wait for you to tell me what’s wrong. Take your time.”

The sweetness makes Seaborne guilty again, and he breathes a shallow, cold breath. He doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but if he did, now would be a perfect time for one, as it’d give his mouth something to do besides confess. Seaborne takes another clean breath; he couldn’t do that to his lungs. He knows he’s spiraling again, so he points out Ursa Major as his last attempt at avoidance.

Seaborne waits. Roach waits. Seaborne speaks.

“Next week is ten years since the day we met.”

“I know.”

“And I’m frustrated because I feel like we don’t have anything to show for it.”

“I know that, too, but you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

Roach scoots a little closer, and Seaborne pretends he doesn’t feel it in his dick. His partner twists his body and stares at Seaborne like he’s asking for his eyes. Seaborne avoids him for a few more seconds by admiring the stars, then turns to meet the look. There’s truth in Roach’s stare, and his voice is honest when he explains himself. “We have so much to show for it, Sea. We have a whole decade of friendship to show for it.”

Seaborne chuckles nervously. Suddenly his coat is too warm for the cold, and he gestures to the sky. “Shouldn’t you be convincing me of the probability of extraterrestrial life right about now?”

“I’m serious. I don’t think any of the time we’ve spent together is wasted. There’s nothing to waste if we’re happy. Aren’t you happy?”

Is Seaborne’s head spinning, or is Roach leaning in? Seaborne glances at his partner’s mouth, eyeing his cute lip mole and wanting to smooch it. He’s about to deflect again, make a joke about how the police force doesn’t actually recognize them as detectives or their dead-end cases, but there’s something in Roach’s face that makes him think this conversation is a new one, heavy and legitimate. Seaborne sighs, and the air tastes like ice. “I’m happy with you,” he confesses, and it’s in that string of words that Seaborne realizes what they’re actually talking about. “But what about Valerie?”

“Valerie?” Roach shakes his head. “I broke up with her months ago. This isn’t about her. I’m asking if you’re happy with me, with the way we do things. Are you, Seaborne?”

Seaborne feels like a butterfly twisting on a needle, something sharp pinning his guts in place under Roach’s scrutiny. He looks back to the stars for strength, and they twinkle down at him, God-like, making him brave. He presses his lips together as his nerves broil, anticipating what he wants to say. “Do you…” he starts, and God’s stars help him say it, “Do you ever look at someone and wonder… what they’re like?”

“What they’re like?”

“In bed.”

“Oh.”

The air crackles electric as the two speak what’s never been said, and Seaborne rushes to explain himself, fumbling over his words. “I mean, I don’t know, like, when it happened, but I just- I just, I don’t know. What do you think? I don’t know.”

Roach offers the calm to Seaborne’s storm, and his voice is earnest, his eyes never leaving Seaborne’s face, even as his glasses start to steam. “I think it’s always been a possibility.” He says nothing else.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it. And I feel bad. I feel like I’m lying to you.”

“Lying to me.”

“Yeah.” Now it’s Seaborne’s turn to say nothing else. He’s already said too much, and the butterfly of his heart twists on its pin as his horny brain spouts filth. _I want to do things to you; I want to take your glasses off and share a bed with you and feel you inside me; I want us to be more than partners on a case._ With these confessions going unsaid, Seaborne can’t bear to look at Roach, even as Roach is looking at him. He’s nervous, but he’s getting hot thinking that now is the moment to try something, anything, and he moves without a moment to stop himself.

Seaborne’s hand lands on Roach’s thigh, and suddenly Seaborne slinks off the hood and onto his knees. The dirt is damp and cold where he kneels, but his face heats as he shoves it between Roach’s spread legs. He’s burning hot and stupid, but he’s in too deep now, and he’s determined to make his point. Nuzzling his face into the soft bulge between his friend’s legs, he moans his name. _“Roach…”_

“Woah…” the man husks, spreading his thighs a little wider, eyes wild behind his foggy frames.

Roach doesn’t tell Seaborne to stop as his hands rove the length of his thighs, mouthing at the gray fabric beneath his belt buckle, so Seaborne goes on. He moans the name again, muffled against the thickness that swells against his lips. Lust and bold energy course through him like magic, and he lets fantasy guide him, hands trembling as they search for Roach’s belt, skating along the leather and fumbling in the dark to release the metal clasp. He feels foolish and vulnerable, but he wants this _so much,_ and as Roach’s hands fly to the fluff of Seaborne’s hair, Seaborne strains his ears for any noise of discomfort. He gets the belt buckle loose as Roach confirms his consent in small sounds of pleasure, and Seaborne presses his palm against the junk in front of his face, squeezing. His body has never responded to anyone the way it responds now, and he reaches to tug at the knot of his tie before reaching lower and squeezing the pressure out of his own swollen dick.

“It’s hot…” Seaborne mumbles against Roach’s inner thigh, and neither of them know if he’s talking about the burn in their cheeks, the arousal in their bodies, or the weight of Roach’s junk in Seaborne’s hand. Roach tips his head back and cards his fingers through Seaborne’s inky, silken hair, and when Seaborne peeks, he can see Roach’s breath against the cold night air. He can’t feel the chill, only heat, and the sound of unzipping Roach’s trousers burns a mark on his brain.

One swivel of his wrist, and Roach is out and proud in Seaborne’s hand. He’s blood-hot to the touch and pulsing, too thick and too pretty for Seaborne to keep his mouth off it one moment longer. Simmering in attraction, Seaborne swallows him down without warning and gropes Roach’s knees, Roach mimicking the grip on the back of Seaborne’s head. Seaborne finds his way down and nestles his nose into the dark thatch of hair, flexing his throat around the meat. He’s done this once before, but badly in college, and he tries to work his mouth as a grown man would, proving confidence in his mouth skills. Roach tastes good, and Seaborne’s lips stretch around his girth as he holds him, then Seaborne rears back, slipping his wide tongue along the underside of Roach’s cock, hollowing his cheeks in a hearty suck as he goes back down. Roach curses, and Seaborne’s legs tremble where he kneels.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you’re killing me, Sea.”

Seaborne’s lost to it, face hot and blurry with arousal, but the pet name reminds him there’s a man attached to this dick, and he lets spit dribble down his chin as he flicks his eyes up at him. Roach’s glasses have slipped down his nose and his gray eyes are all-black in the dark, watching Seaborne with an intensity he’s never seen. Seaborne’s erection throbs as he holds the stare, opening his mouth to give his buddy a good look at the wet stickiness, then lolls his tongue out and maneuvers with one hand the ruddy head to rub against it. Roach jerks and looks away like it’s too much, and Seaborne pushes it, sharpening his tongue in the salty slit of his cockhead and gathering the foreskin to swirl between the layers. Roach’s fingernails are blunt where they dig into Seaborne’s skull, but the pain is a welcome one and Seaborne makes a helpless sound like he wants Roach to touch him more.

Answering the plea, Roach trails a hand down the back of his neck, cold fingers slipping beneath the collar of Seaborne’s coat at his nape as Seaborne takes the full length of him down his throat. Seaborne feels dreamy, there on his knees, drawing squeaky, breathless whimpers from his partner with only his mouth. He makes a point to suck sharply and bob his head, mimicking what he’d want done on himself, and it’s only another moment of stealing excited glances at each other before Roach gets both hands on Seaborne’s broad shoulders and squeezes.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, and decidedly, like he’s never said anything as resolute in his life.

Seaborne wraps a hand on the thick base of Roach’s cock and trains his eyes on him as he pulls off, leaving a smear of slick on his mustache as he flubs, “But-“

“I don’t care,” Roach counters, and yanks Seaborne to his feet by his lapels. Seaborne keeps a hand on his man to shield his tender warmth from the cold as Roach smashes his mouth against his. The kiss is clumsy and desperate, and the two men cling to each other as it deepens. Seaborne leans into the kiss and finds it tastes even better than Roach’s cock, especially as Roach shoves his pointed tongue past his teeth like he wants to taste himself in Seaborne’s mouth. There’s a lingering sweetness of milkshake, and Seaborne chases it as he pushes Roach back onto the Camino’s hood, climbing overtop and covering Roach’s exposed dick with his lap.

The car squeaks and rocks under their weight as they settle into a steady rhythm, Seaborne’s hand wedged between them and pumping to keep his prize hard. He nearly forgets he’s got a dick of his own until Roach is pawing for it, tracing the outline through his slacks and offering needy kisses all over Seaborne’s face. He lingers on Seaborne’s mouth, smooching him into bliss.

They say everything they didn’t before in an extended kiss, bypassing _This is weird_ and _Your mustache tickles_ and diving headfirst into _Touch me more_. Roach’s lips yield to Seaborne’s tongue and Seaborne’s body to Roach’s hands, and with one man pinned beneath the other, Roach touches all he can get. He fixates on Seaborne’s hips and legs, unclasping the big buttons of Seaborne’s coat to get to the form inside, and with a murmur of praise on his lips, Roach claims Seaborne’s torso for himself. Sliding his hands up his sides, Roach squeezes the narrow slope of Seaborne’s waist and grips him like he doesn’t want him to go anywhere. Seaborne promises he won’t with a rock of his hips, swivel of his wrist, and presses a soft kiss to the mole above his lip. Eager for more, Roach plays possessive and splays his palms over Seaborne’s chest, thumbing his peaked nipples through his white dress shirt. He goes to grope Seaborne’s shoulders and pushes off the coat to get to his biceps, squeezing his arms before his hands take root in his hair. As Roach kisses him and gets kissed in return, he tugs Seaborne down by the hair and leaves his hands framing his skull, fingers carded through the feathery strands and keeping Seaborne locked on his mouth. He doesn’t let up for a good two minutes, sucking on Seaborne’s plump lower lip ’til he’s disheveled and begging for more.

Roach is rough in his touches but soft in the mouth, and his lips move against Seaborne’s as he whispers words of affirmation. He’s breathing Seaborne’s name, mumbling, “God, you’re sexy,” and other compliments, cursing dirty words whenever Seaborne goes to suck or bite his neck. Seaborne revels in doing all he’s dreamt of, licking a stripe up Roach’s neck and earning himself a cute, whimpery sound. It’s perfect, having Roach here between his legs, touching him like he can’t get enough of his tight, fit body. He can feel his effect on his friend as Roach pulses in his hand, and it makes Seaborne want to feel that blood-hot heartbeat somewhere else.

With one hand fisted in his hair and the other squeezing his trapped dick, Seaborne shivers, desperate to get on with it. Kissing Roach is the easiest thing he’s ever done, but his body cries for fulfillment, and he moves to Roach’s ear to tell him what he wants. “Wanna fuck,” he states. “Wanna feel you deep.”

Roach cries in agreement, and the noise rings out in the open space. Seaborne and the moon and stars are all who hear it, and Roach pushes Seaborne into an upright position on his lap, making eyes at him for confirmation. “You really wanna do this?” he asks, and there’s gruffness in his voice like he’s impatient, but Seaborne knows he won’t take what’s not offered.

This time, Seaborne frames Roach’s face with his hands. His glasses are askew and steamy, and Seaborne presses a thumb into Roach’s mouth as he regards him honestly. “More than the whole night sky,” he answers.

With that, Roach pushes Seaborne from his lap and tucks himself back into his pants. The movement makes Seaborne’s heart ache, and in the time it takes Roach to scramble off the hood and twist his body to reach the passenger side window, Seaborne’s struck with how _real_ it all is. They’re really _here_ , parked under the stars and about to fuck for the first time. His tweed coat is crumpled by the front wheel of his Chevy, his body is warm and tingly from touch, and Roach is here with him, about to fulfill his most intimate fantasy.

Seaborne watches as Roach reaches a long arm through the window and opens the dashboard glovebox, retrieves something, and brings it back to him with a gleam in his eye. “If we’re gonna do this right…” He presents Seaborne with a condom and a small packet of lube, and Seaborne’s understimulated dick twitches at the sight.

“When did you…?”

“About a year ago. I’ve been swapping them out for fresh ones every few months, just in case something like this happened.”

Roach leans against the hood, holds out his free hand, and smiles at Seaborne. It’s the first smile he’s seen all night, and it’s so smitten Seaborne might argue that Roach is in love with him. With a start, he realizes this must mean he is, too, and the thought of making first love to his ever-prepared Boy Scout crush has Seaborne buzzing in his skin. Roach is smarter than he seems, pulling a trick like this, and Seaborne has never loved him more. Smiling back, Seaborne takes Roach’s hand and steps between his legs, right where he fits.

His newfound lover sets the preparations aside and wraps his arms around Seaborne, cradling him close in warmth and kissing his lips again. Seaborne loses himself to the expert flick of Roach’s tongue, humming happy moans into his mouth as Roach makes quick work of his belt, unzips his slacks, and pushes them down Seaborne’s hips. Seaborne yips at the cold breeze on his bare skin, but quickly forgets all chill when Roach wraps one big, warm hand around his length while the other settles on his rump. He jerks him slowly, building tension, and teethes at Seaborne’s ear. “You’ve been thinkin’ about this?” he husks, thumb rubbing the swollen head.

Seaborne steps out of his slacks, letting them pool at his feet. Bare from the waist down, he looks ridiculous half-naked in long socks and dress shoes, but he cares very little as Roach tugs him by the dick closer to his body. “I think about a lot of things.”

Roach towers over him, tall and masculine with his free hand at the dip in his back, and his voice is sinful as he says, “Show me.”

And this, folks, is Seaborne’s moment. He cracks a sly, brilliant smile and saunters his bare hips as best he can, pressing closer to Roach, even as Roach still has him in his hand. The other moves to one flat hip, and the touch sends a wave of warmth through Seaborne’s half-exposed body. Eyeing up his dreamboat of a man like he’s the handsomest thing on this side of the Mississippi, Seaborne brings both hands up Roach’s long arms and threads his fingers through his hair, fluffing up the amber strands like he’s always wanted to. Seaborne gives a soft tug that earns him a beautiful sound, then leans on his tip-toes to watch himself trace the line of Roach’s jaw, petting his scrappy chinstrap beard inches from his face. Roach’s eyes flutter closed as Seaborne fulfills another wish, carefully removing his wire-framed glasses from his face. After setting them safely in the crook of the car’s windshield wipers, he guides Roach back on the Camino’s hood.

He keeps guiding until Roach is flat on his back, stretched out before him along the double-black stripes. Seaborne doesn’t want to stall any longer, so he gathers his coat from the ground, folds it, and puts it under Roach’s head as it rests against the windshield, not wanting him to feel any discomfort in the next few moments. Then, just as Roach has asked him to, he crawls on top of him and shows him what he’s been thinking about.

First, he kisses Roach again. Putting both knees at either side of his hips, Seaborne crouches over the man beneath him and shows him the space between his bare thighs where his dick aches for Roach’s touch. Roach takes him in hand and tugs a slow rhythm, working both of them back up to the initial fevered temperatures that got them here, in these positions. Now, Seaborne has everything he needs to reenact his fantasy, including open access to his ass, which he very much intends to use. Another few sloppy kisses, and Seaborne feels for Roach’s dick, grabbing it and lining himself up along next to it.

Roach watches patiently as Seaborne grinds their groins together, and at the press of hot skin on skin, Seaborne remembers how impatient he is to get Roach inside him. His hips move into the friction without conscious effort, and Seaborne begins to pant with the strain of desire. As his noises and Roach’s grow louder, the Chevy El Camino rocks and squeaks beneath them, and Seaborne is met with an embarrassing and highly-arousing revelation.

If anyone were to pull up the gravel road and park next to them, hoping to stargaze, they’d be met with a very different sight. They’d see a couple; one man without pants crouching over another and tonguing him silly. If they stayed a moment longer, they might see the man without pants spread his legs and take his partner’s hand, bringing it around his backside to place it firmly on the moonlit, goose-pimpled flesh of his ass. When Seaborne does this, Roach squeezes the muscle, and the whole of his cheek fits in Roach’s palm. Roach makes a grumbling noise low in his throat, and Seaborne takes it as a very clear sign to _Please, get the fuck on with it._

With a devilish, highly-determined grin, Seaborne reaches for the packet of lube. He feels sexy and knows what he wants, and he sucks two fingers into his mouth before coating them in a small dab of lubricant. Seaborne arches his back, and Roach watches with bated breath as Seaborne stretches his arm to touch himself. He strains to press his slick fingers to his tight rim, gasping as his fingertips circle the muscle. His eyes never leaving Roach’s, his fingers touch blindly, and he brings them back to spit on them and add saliva to what little wetness he gives it. Before he continues, Roach snatches his wrist and adds a dribble of his own spit to his fingers, guiding his hand back like he wants to help Seaborne prepare. Seaborne shivers, mewling as his own wet fingertips ease open his rim. With one of Roach’s hands on his flank and the other on his wrist, Seaborne’s soon fucking himself with his fingers, squeezing more lube directly onto his crease as his middle and ring finger plunge deep. Shameless and shameful all at once, he closes his eyes as he continues the act, feeling silly and confident and desperately horny. When he looks again, Roach’s face is beet-red and visibly shaken at the sight. Seaborne scoots closer to Roach’s lap, and he can feel Roach touching himself as he watches, listens, and feels Seaborne opening himself atop him. The Chevy squeaks and sags as they shift further up the hood, unable to keep themselves from squirming as the heat builds between them, Seaborne fucking himself in rough jerks of his wrist. Just as Seaborne catches heat coiling from the wet place between his cheeks, Roach squeaks out two words that send blood rushing up Seaborne’s neck and into his ears.

“Let me.”

Seaborne falls forward and lets both hands slap the windshield as Roach takes over. Leaving a streak of lube on the glass, Seaborne balances his weight on all fours. He’s so far up Roach’s body now that his knees are at his sides, and Roach’s half-upright position against the windshield allows him to peek over Seaborne’s hip and watch himself play with the slick, tight heat of his ass. Roach spits on his soiled fingers and adds more slick, just enough to sink two fingers down to the first knuckle. He sucks fat hickies into Seaborne’s neck as he watches his long fingers reach deep between his cheeks, and Seaborne, whose head was once spinning at thinking of having Roach touch him like this, now goes fuzzy-brained and gives himself over to the sensation. His eyes roll back as Roach murmurs filth about how good he feels and how he can’t wait to get inside him, and Seaborne grabs for Roach’s thick cock, just there beneath him. Seaborne wants to have Roach’s fingers swirling and rubbing inside him forever, but he has to remember what they’re here for, what they’ve both prepared for, and with his free hand, he finds the condom somewhere on the cold metal. Making fuck-me eyes at the man, who, might I add, looks even more handsome sans-glasses, Seaborne tears open the foil with his teeth. It’s obvious and slutty, but Seaborne wouldn’t have it any other way, and he holds the half-used packet of lube and the base of Roach’s cock in one hand as the other rolls on the latex. When he’s wrapped, Roach pulls his fingers from Seaborne’s hot insides and rubs over the loosened muscle, easing it with gentle pets.

With Roach hard and pointed straight-up between his legs, Seaborne drizzles the rest of the lube packet over his dick, smearing it over the latex. As he scoots closer to what he’s soon to be seated on, Seaborne finally clues in on how truly _big_ Roach is. He’s thick and girthy, and touching it now, Seaborne longs to have access to this meat anytime he wants it.

Roach gets both hands on Seaborne and maneuvers him so his dick rests at his soft undercarriage, and Seaborne leans to kiss him once more. He lingers in the kiss, calming himself by the taste of Roach’s lips. Steadying himself on his knees, Seaborne feels the hot, thick head nudging just inches from where it’s supposed to go, and he repeats his sentiment, emphasizing the tiniest shred of disappointment at not having Roach bare.

“I wanna _feel_ you, for _real_ …”

Roach offers a soft kiss to the goozle in Seaborne’s neck. “You will, I promise. But let’s have tonight, okay? Enjoy it before the park ranger comes.”

Seated atop Roach and slick where he likes it, Seaborne feels frisky, elated over getting everything he wants, and he’s too giddy to bypass a joke. “Park ranger’s gonna come? Same.”

Roach puffs a breath of laughter and rolls his eyes, and that’s when Seaborne sinks himself down, and hard. He catches the chuckle mid-way and pushes it into a groan, burning with the stretch of Roach’s impossible girth. There’s so much of him, _so goddamn much,_ that no skinny fingers can mimic the feeling. Roach’s eyes go funny as Seaborne forces him all the way inside, and the stretch feels _so fucking good_ when he pulls back up. Roach’s hands fly to Seaborne’s bare hips and resume their patterns of touching his body as Seaborne rocks, grinding slow as his wet heat chases sensation.

Seaborne puts both hands on Roach’s chest to balance himself as he rides his dick. His knees are sore where they dig into the red metal, his body is trembling from the inside out, and every muscle is straining hot from the fullness wedged up his ass. Both men go quiet and breathless, too focused to make jokes, too horny to do anything more than study the place where Roach’s cock sinks between Seaborne’s cheeks. Illuminated by moonbeams, Seaborne looks incredible speared on Roach’s dick, and Roach roams his hands over the lithe body in his lap, tweaking his nipples through Seaborne’s shirt. Roach’s hands are possessive and grabby in lust, drawing yelps from Seaborne as they come down hard on his bare ass, spanking a smack that echoes through the woods and leaves him red and raw. Ravenous, Roach tugs at the loosened tie like a leash and keeps his mate writhing atop him.

Seaborne throws his head back in ecstasy, bouncing on Roach’s lap faster as the pleasure builds. He brings Roach’s hands to his hips and covers them, keeping them pinned there as he pushes the Camino to her limits and takes what he wants. The red Chevy bounces in time with Seaborne, squeaking on steadfast wheels as the two men grunt and rut together. The stars twinkle overhead, the night an endless audience to their noisy lovemaking, and Seaborne grows bold off the sounds. Seaborne’s hot and overstimulated where he sits, exposed to the open sky and God if He’s watching, and he fucking _loves it._ Roach’s cock is better than any fantasy, and the slick rub of latex makes it easy for Seaborne to pick up speed, exerting power over the body underneath him. His cries come sharp and loud as he rides, and Roach grunts like a beast, rivaling all other bears of the North Carolina woods.

Falling forward, Seaborne hunches over Roach’s form and humps in shallow thrusts, chasing a finish. He doesn’t want to stop, ever, but his dick is sticky and his body wants to climax. Roach’s noises come raspy as he moans, cursing Seaborne’s name and stuttering that he’s close. Seaborne swivels and catches a beautiful ridge inside himself, arching to hit it as he draws out the pleasure. Both Roach and the Camino are squeaking, whining beneath Seaborne’s energy as the man goes wild, slamming himself down so forcefully on Roach’s lap that he can feel the car’s metal hood buckle and give. Roach grabs Seaborne’s dick and a handful of his hair, yanks his head to meet his mouth, and with one deep growl of, _“Please, baby…”_ gives Seaborne an orgasm.

Thrashing, his muscles squeeze tight as hot pleasure shrieks from his ass to his dick. He comes with a sharp, _“Fuck!”_ and paints Roach’s fist in slick, trembling through waves of liquid heat as Roach joins him in completion. Seaborne’s hips don’t stop rocking ’til his insides go numb, and even when his body stills, he keeps Roach locked deep inside him. He slumps atop his friend, partner, lover! and Roach holds him as quiet settles in.

It’s only a half-minute before the chilly Spring night claims their body heat. Roach peppers soft-lipped kisses to Seaborne’s neck and cheek, then gently guides him off his softening dick. Seaborne can’t bear to look as Roach removes the condom, ties it, and tucks it and the torn foil packets away, but when he feels two big, warm hands smoothing over his back, he peeks over his shoulder.

And that’s it, right there, that same look. Fondness unlike any other, an unspoken _forever_ that Seaborne won’t ever stop loving. He’ll forever stay loving this man, that he knows, and as he slides off the hood and collects his coat and slacks, he finds himself desperate to voice it. Roach has always been so easy to talk to, anyway.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” Seaborne asks once dressed, tracing a hand over the fuck-happy dent in the Chevy’s hood he’s not at all concerned about leaving there.

Roach slings an arm across the detective’s shoulders and guides them back inside the car. “Not before tonight, but you can tell me again.”

They leave the stars blushing as they return to their seats, and anyone parked at the overlook peeking through their windshield might catch the driver smile, kiss the passenger, and mouth three unmistakable words.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year's Day, babes!! Here's a little something I've been thinking about for a while :)
> 
> This was supposed to be Chapter 6 of my [Rhink Ficlet Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942173/chapters/37175219), but considering the scarcity of Roachborne fic in the Rhink fandom, I thought she deserved her own moment in the moonlight.
> 
> Special thanks to [thepatientheart](http://thepatientheart.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for the model of Seaborne's car, I couldn't have done this without you. Also, please visit my blog [lovelyrhink](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com) for more goodies if you liked this story. Here's to a Rhinky 2019!! ❤︎


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